Gratitude in Motion

I FOLDED THE LOOSE-LEAF note meticulously into an origami triangle, the way high school kids in the nineties did. On the outside was his name: Sean. On the inside were the words that might just lead to young romance—or crushing heartbreak:

Would I actually have the nerve to give it to him? That remained to be seen.

Sean walked with his head permanently tilted to the right side because his wavy, sun-kissed brown surfer hair covered his eye otherwise. He was six foot four, with a deep voice and a permanent tan from the Daytona Beach sun. He was a senior and I was a sophomore. I thought he was hot.

He was my friend's older brother, and I hadn't paid much attention to him before mutual friends of ours started buzzing in both our ears about what a good match we'd make. So I started checking him out. Unobtrusively, of course. Before long, I was arriving at school early just to catch a glimpse of his car pulling into the parking lot. He drove a black 1972 Volkswagen Beetle with surf racks on the top and subwoofers in the back. He was so effortlessly cool and yet didn't seem to have any grasp of his effect on girls. There were plenty of us who hoped to catch his eye, but he was more focused on surfing than dating…or much of anything else. I could have gone gray and wrinkled waiting for him to make the first move. He was sweetly oblivious.

What I liked about him, too, was his innocence. Lots of high school guys—especially seniors—were all about partying and getting drunk and having sex in other people's bathrooms. Sean wasn't like that. There was a rumor that he'd lost his virginity but had decided not to have sex again after that…which was attractive to me because I had already committed not to have sex before I was married.

My parents were Southern Baptists, and church was a major part of my life. I was devoted to God mostly out of a fear of mortality—I didn't want to make Him mad and wind up in hell. And there were apparently lots of ways to wind up there, but one of the quickest ways was to have sex before marriage.

I wasn't really sure what Sean's religious beliefs were, but that was pretty far back in my mind at the moment. God wouldn't mind if we just maybe kissed a little, would He?

With that hope in mind, I felt my face go white-hot as I approached Sean with my note in hand, clutched against my chest. We'd never really spoken before, aside from quick hellos. I walked up with all the false confidence I could muster, smiled, and handed it to him. Then I walked away in my acid-washed jeans without saying a word.

Smooth.

My brother Erin and I had just gotten our own phone line, so I sat in my room that night and waited eagerly for its distinctive ring. For effect, I turned on my music much louder than it needed to be just before eight o'clock so that I'd sound cool when I picked up the phone. Living Colour's "Cult of Personality" would really camouflage the sound of girl-sitting-by-the-phone. Right on time, it rang. I waited two rings to pick it up because…you know.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Colleen?"

"Oh, yes. Let me just turn down my music."

And so it started. I want to tell you that we had deep talks about the meaning of life, but we really just talked about school and our teachers and the other things high school kids talk about. Then we made plans for our first date at Friendly's.

He picked me up in that Volkswagen Bug that I had admiringly stalked for months. The view from the passenger seat was a little different from what I expected, though…you could actually see the road if you looked down. The floor had rusted-out holes right through the metal.

Depeche Mode was blaring through the subwoofers, and the whole car smelled of Sean's Cool Water cologne. He rolled down the windows, which was a disaster. I had so much hairspray in my well-thought-out hairdo, and wind and hairspray are a terrible combination. My hair had not yet gotten the memo that we were out of the eighties, and it had two natural enemies: water and wind.

Once I was in Sean's car, I had no idea what to say, and apparently neither did he, because we drove along for a good ten to twelve minutes saying absolutely nothing.

Nothing.

I was dumbstruck by insecurities; there was a whole movie's worth of inner monologue happening in my mind as I desperately tried to look cool and unaffected by the wind—not terrified that I would emerge from this vehicle looking like Tammy Faye Bakker. Once a silence gets started, it's very hard to end it. Eventually, as we were crossing a bridge, Sean took the plunge.

"So…do you still want to go to Friendly's?"

"Yeah. Sure."

I smiled nervously. In a non-windblown way.

After we got there, we both eased into real live conversation. We ordered big, sloppy burgers and Cokes and talked about our mutual friends.

"I nicknamed you Colleeny-Bopper," he said. "Because of how you're always bopping down the halls with so much energy and a big smile on your face."

"Well, I don't have a nickname for you yet. But my friend calls you Lurch because you're so tall and have that deep voice."

Maybe it wasn't the most flattering nickname.

He complimented me on my big blue eyes, and there was some banter about his cool hair. I had butterflies the whole time we sat there, and nervous giggles filled the air. When we were done eating, we went to play putt-putt golf.

By the end of the night, not only did I know that Sean was going to be my boyfriend, but he already felt like my best friend, too. We had such a great, playful rapport, and he was so sweet to me. I didn't get the feeling that he was just waiting till the right moment to get me to "park" and rip off my clothes. In fact, he didn't even kiss me that night.

Sean was so respectful of not only me, but my parents, too. He never pushed my curfews or did anything that would cause them to worry. Our relationship was innocent and joyful, consisting of lots of lunch dates to Wendy's and Taco Bell, movies, and trips to the beach.

The first time we went to the beach together, I wore a tankini, but it wasn't the shape of my body that I was nervous about…it was my feet. I buried my toes in the sand as quickly as possible after taking my shoes off, and hoped he wouldn't notice if I kept them buried, like an ostrich avoiding a predator. But he noticed.

"Why are you hiding your feet?"

"My toes," I said. "They're ugly."

"Come on, let me see."

"Nope."

"Do you see these things?" He pointed at his own—okay, yes, odd—toes. "These are called hammertoes. It can't be worse than that."

"Yes, it can. My friends always make fun of me. My feet are too big in general, but my second toes are really long."

"Well, now you have to show me."

Peer pressure.

I showed him. And he didn't make fun of me. Yet.

"There's nothing wrong with your feet! Those are the coolest toes I've ever seen!"

We did get to a point where we gleefully made fun of each other's quirks and flaws, but he was so good about being sensitive and building me up so that I'd always feel safe with him. It was a wonderful feeling. It was also ridiculous that he liked my giant toes.

Surfing was a huge part of his life, and he tried to teach me, but I was terrified. A few times, I paddled out with him and sat on a surfboard, but only once did I manage to stand upright. The rest of the time I mostly spent fantasizing about when I would be allowed to paddle back to shore. I didn't like the feeling of not being able to see land, or of waiting for a wave and hoping I'd get my balance right in time.

So after that, I would just sit on the beach and watch him, and then we'd go out for greasy food afterward. I was a serious athlete, primarily a cyclist, but I could still down cheese fries with the best of them.

Every Sunday, I went to church with my family, and Sean came with us a few times. Sometimes he also went to church with his parents. They were Episcopalian, which was much different from being Baptist. Episcopalians were barely Christians at all, in my pastor's mind. It was a much more liberal religion.

When Sean once again didn't go to church one Sunday, I asked him why.

"The ocean is my church," he said. "When I want to be spiritual and connect, that's where I go."

I sort of understood. But I sort of didn't.

He asked me to prom, which was a big deal for a sophomore. I borrowed a black dress I'd admired from my oldest brother Shawn's wife, Kaori, and my dad told us to be back by eleven. It wasn't much time on a prom night, but we knew he meant business. Whenever my curfew neared, my dad would wait near the door and flick the lights on as we approached to let us know he was watching.

Sean and I took pictures at his parents' house and then in a garden where we had often taken walks before, then headed to the Daytona Beach Desert Inn with friends and danced for hours. It marked the end of his high school years; I still had two more to go, and I wondered how that would affect us. Lots of couples broke up when someone went to college, but it didn't seem like we would.

The night before my birthday that August, Sean plotted a surprise for me with my parents: He sneaked in after I fell asleep and put a vase of flowers and teddy bear wearing a cameo necklace in my bathroom, along with a tape player hooked up to the outlet. It was rigged so that the play button was already pressed, but the power wouldn't turn on until someone (me, hopefully) turned on the light. When I did, it played our song: "I'll Be There" by Escape Club. He'd bought a single of the cassette.

It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me, and I was amazed that my parents let him do it. I still have the cassette.

Sean wasn't exactly my first boyfriend; I'd been out on dates with lots of guys before, but this was the first relationship that lasted more than a couple of weeks. It was exciting to me, filled with all the heady feelings of first love. We had never actually used that word, but I had thought it plenty.

My youth minister and his wife noticed how head-over-heels I seemed to be, and when they asked how the relationship was going, I even confided that I felt like I might be falling in love. It wasn't received the way I thought it would be.

"Do you know if he's saved?" my youth minister asked.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe. He goes to church sometimes."

"Have you witnessed to him yet?"

I looked down.

"Colleen, if you haven't, you need to. If he's not saved, then you have the responsibility to tell him about Jesus. Otherwise he could go to hell."

"I just try to live my life as a Christian and be a good example."

"But that's not enough. This relationship can't work right now because you're unequally yoked. Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 6:14, 'Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?' You have nothing in common with Sean. If you're choosing to be yoked with someone who isn't saved, then you're in sin."

I stood there listening, a knot forming in my stomach. What was he telling me? My relationship with Sean was sinful?

"You have to put God first in your life," he said.

It was a small town; the youth minister knew that Sean's family wasn't very religious. And although every word he said to me hurt, I felt that he was looking out for me as he always had. He and his wife had become a big part of my life and my thoughts during my adolescence; he looked for ways for all of us in the youth group to deepen our relationship with God and be better Christians. He wasn't telling me this because he wanted to ruin my life—it was because he cared about me and didn't want to see me make a big mistake. Their convictions were strong.

It was just so different from the way I thought, though. I told him I'd pray and think about it, and then as soon as I got home, I couldn't stop crying. Had I been letting Sean down all this time by not proselytizing to him? I had never been comfortable with evangelism, but was I being a terrible friend by not helping to save his soul? What if the minister was right and I was throwing away the only opportunity to help Sean get into heaven?

I'd told the minister I didn't know whether Sean was saved, but deep down I knew he wasn't saved like I was in the Baptist Church. I'd just never asked because I didn't want to hear the answer. While he supported me as a Christian, religion wasn't a big part of his life, and I couldn't imagine telling him that he needed to devote his life to Jesus if he wanted to continue dating me.

All that night, I prayed and cried, cried and prayed. It was torture. I knew that I was going to have to break up with Sean to prove my devotion to God, but it made such little sense to me. Our relationship had been so pure, not lustful. How could it be sinful to fall in love?

When I finally emerged from my room, my parents were waiting on the living room couch to talk to me.

"I think I have to break up with Sean," I told them. "I don't think he's saved."

The tears wouldn't stop streaming, and my parents were very supportive.

"We're proud of you for taking a stand for Jesus," my dad said. My mom gave me a hug and told me I was doing the right thing. I hoped she was right.

The next time Sean came over, I met him at the door and fell into his arms crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"We have to break up," I managed to get out in between sobs.

"Why?"

I couldn't answer. Nothing I said would make sense. I tried and tried to say something—anything—to give him an explanation, but I just couldn't get any words out.

"Are you sure this is what you want? Because you're crying right now…" he said.

I just nodded. He was so confused—but then, so was I. After several minutes, he let go of our embrace and left, and I was empty. He left there assuming that I was breaking up with him because he was going to college and I was still in high school. I didn't say, "Let's stay friends," because it would just be too painful to see him anymore if I couldn't be with him. I didn't think I would ever stop crying.

"Do you feel better?" my mother asked the next day.

"No," I said. "Everything hurts." My mom hugged me.

It continued to hurt like that for weeks. My friends, who had understood and accepted my other Christian "quirks" before, thought I was crazy for breaking up with him. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I had to be right with my God. I had to trust in His plan for my life.

The new school year started and I never saw Sean's Volkswagen Beetle pull into that parking lot again. We'd never ditch the cafeteria or see Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves or walk through that beautiful garden again. I'd never stand on a higher step to kiss him so I could reach his lips. It was over.

And I really wasn't okay.